


So Good the Pope Weeps for Days

by ChampagneSly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Using DHK’s ungodly hot picture:</p><p>http://deheerkonijn.tumblr.com/post/21155934476/something-silly-ive-been-sitting-on-for-a-little </p><p>And headcanon, “ I like to think that Spain and Romano are so dirty when they dance together that it makes the Pope cry for weeks,” for inspiration, I shall write some post-wine country fail!smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Good the Pope Weeps for Days

Romano was annoyed. No, he was more than just annoyed. He was, in actuality, really fucking pissed. (And maybe, if pressed into honesty, a little disappointed.) Make all that goddamned effort to get off the fucking couch, slide into pants edging on this side of too tight and a shirt that was more suited as second skin than clothing, and fight through crowds of drunk assholes with nothing better to do that try to cop a fucking feel, just so bastard Spain could ignore him. 

He sure as fuck didn’t come to the club just to drink some shit liquor and wait around for Spain to take a goddamned hint. The music was loud, the dance floor was hot, and he had just enough of that gin and juice slip sliding in his veins to make Romano know that he didn’t _have_ to sit prettily at the bar until Spain remembered that he wasn’t the only person in the room who wanted to dance with Romano.

His idiot brother had told him he looked good and even the mirror, usually a pernicious piece of shit, had agreed. When he’d walked in the door to the club, he’d felt fucking hot, ready to let Spain put his hands on the barely concealed dips and curves of his body, let him touch his skin while the rocked and rolled and made everyone jealous from watching such fucking perfection. And maybe, if the bastard had played his cards right, Romano would have crowded him into one the bathroom stalls or the VIP booths and done things he never did when the lights weren’t turned down low and there was no one else to see. 

It fucking figured that the one time he’d been ready to dance, ready to show off to masses just how good he could pull, Spain decided he had better things to do than acknowledge Romano beyond a quick, lame as fuck, kiss to the cheek. And what the hell had been up with the strange pinched look when he’d checked out Romano’s outfit, Romano thought bitterly as he downed the dregs of his third cocktail, wondering if maybe Spain found his red t-shirt too slutty for primetime and was ashamed to be seen with him.

Well, fuck that noise. 

If Spain wanted to waste Romano’s fucking precious time and even more precious patience smiling and shooting the shit with his pasty-faced friend and the Parisian pervert, that was his own goddamned choice. Romano wasn’t going to spend another second pining over some asshole who couldn’t be bothered to dance with him after Romano had made it very clear he wouldn’t be opposed to a little bump and grind. 

He threw some bills on the bar in disgust, annoyed because this song wasn’t half bad for club shit, ready to call it a night when a pair of very unwelcome arms pinned him in place. 

“You shouldn’t give up so easily, my little pill.”

Romano turned, glaring nastily into amused blue eyes as he spat, “And what the fuck business it of yours?” 

France smiled and nodded in a direction which didn’t interest him in the least, purring, “I’m always in the business of love.” 

Romano rolled his eyes, unimpressed and annoyed when France dared to take his chin between his fingers, smirking as he said, “And since Spain can’t possibly afford my rates, I’ll give you this piece of advice for free. Go dance with someone else.” 

Romano scowled, snapping, “I’m not fucking dancing with you,” as he broke free from France’s hold.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” France answered merrily, “I enjoy all of my extremities far too much for such a risk. But I promise it would be worth your while were you to take that shirt and those pants for a turn on the floor.”

“Why the hell should I?” Romano asked, reluctantly intrigued, and really, really wanting to dance to this song, the filthy hot beat almost irresistible under the flashing lights with liquor and lust in his heart. 

France laughed, and to his horror, slid behind him, arm wrapped loose around his waist in the place Spain should have occupied, murmuring in his ear, “Sometimes an oblivious conquistador needs to be reminded of the value of such treasure.” 

Romano’s eyes narrowed as he followed the pointing of France’s finger towards the shifting, swaying crowd and the handsome admiring face inviting him to the party with an outstretched hand. It pained him to admit it, almost as much as it pained him to accept that his idiot brother had feelings for a potato eater, but France had a point.

He was fucking Italy-Romano. And, tonight, he waited for no one, least of all Spaniards who should have known how good they had it. 

Romano knew that the fuckfaced Frenchman almost certainly had ulterior motives, knew that stepping out of French arms into the invitation of some nameless looker on the dance floor was likely a bad idea, but he was all dressed up and ready to go, and if Spain didn’t want to shut up and fucking drive, well…he knew how to take control. 

He’d make the bastard beg for it. 

“Don’t tell me what the hell to do,” Romano tossed over his shoulder, smirking as he bit his thumb and licked his lips, “I got this.” 

Letting his shirt ride up just enough to entice his new best friend, Romano pushed onto the dance floor, hips swaying right into the bold splay of unfamiliar hands, smirking when the guy actually tried to introduce himself. 

“Sorry, bastard,” Romano answered in Italian, winding his arms around a broad neck  while he enjoyed the man’s look of confusion, “I don’t fucking make small talk with the bait.” 

The song changed, the bass line running thick and low, the air in the club filled with the latent desires of a hundred bodies pressed close and near, skin on skin in the prelude to something wanton. Romano closed his eyes and took pleasure in the appreciation of a stranger, in the ready assurance that he was to be wanted, flush with power as he moved to the dirty beat. 

And just when the poor fucker who’d dared to think he had a chance getting into his tight pants tried to slide a thigh between his legs and get him low, Romano felt another set of hands grip tight and sure around his waist. It seemed that Mr. Temporary’s blessed time in the Italian sun was fucking over. The Kingdom of Spain had come calling and he had some shit to answer for. 

Romano shrugged dismissively into the face of dismay, sharpening all his lust and irritation into the fine point of a smirk as he found himself enfolded within the tension of Spain’s arms and held tight against a familiar chest. 

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” Spain growled, low and hot against his throat, fingers flexing on his hips when Romano decided to show instead of tell, rolling his ass against Spain’s body and tilting his head back to shoot his new partner a dirty, unimpressed glare. 

“What the fuck does it look like I was doing?” Romano taunted, grinding into the rock and sway of Spain’s body, licking his lips just to watch the bastard suffer. 

Spain’s hands drifted lower, fingers hooking inside the pockets of his pants, dragging him impossibly closer, so close there was a little space between them as there was between Romano’s shirt and his skin. Romano smirked, high on the feeling of Spain frustrated and already half-hard for him and that look in those green eyes that should have known better than to take for granted. 

“You should have told me you wanted to dance,” Spain murmured, dropping his lips to the curve of Romano’s neck when Romano wound his arm behind Spain’s head and pulled him down, wanting to make sure that Spain heard what he he had to say.

“I shouldn’t have to ask, bastard,” Romano challenged, twining his hands into the mess of curls, spreading his legs and dipping low into the welcome of Spain’s body as the beat turned hot and filthy once more. 

He was gratified by Spain’s moan, turned on by the thrum of the song and the cock that hardened for him with each shift and sway of his ass, confirming what he never should have doubted. 

Romano turned within the span of Spain’s arms, pleased to be greedily tugged near as  Spain slid a thigh between his legs and splayed his hands over the curve of Romano’s back, fingers teasing at the bottom of his shirt and the seam of his pants. 

Romano pushed his hands once more into Spain’s hair as they ground together, dragging his head down so he could see the tease in Romano’s gaze and hear every fucking word Romano had to say. 

“ _You_  should ask _me_ ,” Romano taunted, kissing the corner of Spain’s begging mouth, “You should feel fucking lucky to have the priviledge.”

He arched into the feeling of Spain’s fingers sliding under the shirt, skating over the slickness of his skin as a palm spread over his back and guided him lower to ride the thigh pressed so filthy and good between his legs.

“I do, sweetheart,” Spain murmured, kissing the edge of his jaw, sounding desperate like he damned well should from the pleasure of having Romano drop a hand to cup him through his jeans, squeezing as he kept up his litany of demands,

“And when we get the hell off this dance floor, you’re gonna beg me to get on your knees so you can have a taste of what’s good.” 

“God, yes,” Spain breathed out, slapping a hand over his ass and rocking his hips faster, pushing his cock against Romano’s palm in time with the music, tilting his throat to make way for Romano’s wicked mouth.

Romano staked his claim with teeth and lips, marking Spain’s too pretty skin as they danced together and made a fucking scene, burning up the floor with moves that he would weep to remember in the morning, half-out of his mind with lust as he murmured, “And I’m going to let you. I’m going to let you take me to the bathroom and push me up against the goddamned wall, even though its filthy, because I know you’re so fucking desperate for me you can’t wait to get home.” 

Romano doubted he tasted many victories sweeter or easier than the reckless fervor of Spain’s kiss or the sight of Spain debauching himself, dancing to Romano’s rhythm.  Under the lights and in time with the beat, they kissed, a dirty, wet slide of lips and tongues to accompany the wicked roll of hips and the slip and slide of hands going every damned where. 

The kiss was stealing what little air he had left to give and their movements had become something more for the bedroom than the floor, but it didn’t matter because Spain’s hand was flexing on his ass, teasing at the curve of his bottom.It felt too goddamned good every time Spain sighed into his mouth and shivered under his touch, even though it was hot as hell in a club packed with too many people. 

Too hard, too fucking ready to go to last another minute without more, Romano broke away, fisting his hand in Spain’s shirt and growling, “Let’s go, bastard. This dance is over. Time for the next.”

~~

The sound of his back meeting the wall and the groan that tore from his throat when Spain shoved his leg between his thighs, still pushing into him like they were on the dance floor, dancing like they wanted to fuck, drowned in the throb of the beat. It was so fucking wrong it was right, up against a wall in some abandoned and dark corner of the club, with legs around Spain’s waist rolling his hips over a cock so hard Romano wondered that the bastard hadn’t split his pants. The pulse of the music and the thrill of getting caught had him flushed so hot and heavy with lust, he didn’t give fuck that he didn’t do this sort of shit, didn’t get so worked up that he couldn’t wait to have his hands in Spain’s hair and his tongue in his mouth, tasting all that goddamned gorgeous jealousy and want.

Spain’s fingers flexed in time with the rhythm of their bodies arching together, up and down, fucking like they were still dancing. Romano opened his eyes to take in the mess he’d made, control unraveling into something low and dangerous at the sight of that pretty mouth so red and angry from the insistence of his lips and teeth, and eyes that  looked at nothing but him. He moaned as Spain pressed his mouth open and wet to the curve of his shoulder, biting at the fabric of his too tight shirt and urging Romano to ride the firm expanse of his thigh as they kept right on dancing and fucking, hidden from no one who cared to look. 

The taste of Spain’s desperation was as delicious and intoxicating as the liquor he’d licked from his lips when they’d kissed on the dance floor and Romano was the sort of man weak enough to want more. He shoved Spain’s head backwards, tightening his hold in the curls that always looked so good splayed out over his pillow, dark against white sheets in the early morning sun. 

Spain pouted, lips falling open around the shortness of his breath when Romano dropped his legs from his waist and spread his feet on the ground, steadying himself as he commanded, “I thought I told you to beg, bastard. Tell me how much you want it.” 

Spain’s gaze went wide with the surprise that did wicked fucking things to Romano, made him want to put his hands on shoulders and shove the bastard to the ground and press his face to the cock trapped beneath jeans that were just tight enough to make the waiting feel damned good. 

“Mmm, sweetheart,” Spain murmured, hands reaching for his belt while he sank to his knees, getting low in the back of some godforsaken club, because the bastard just couldn’t wait, “I don’t want it. I need it.”

Romano smirked as he titled his head to rest against the wall, feeling the thump of the bass from the club rumbled in his ears and down his spine, humming in time with the slickness of his lust. He spread his hands over the tension of shoulders that were bent and hunched just for him, biting his lip and muffling a smug moan as Spain pulled down his zipper and discovered that grown-up nations didn’t fuck around with useless things like underwear. 

“Then be goddamned grateful I’m generous enough to give it you,” Romano taunted, voice breaking low and rough as Spain dragged his mouth up the hot curve of his cock, peering up at him with those too pretty eyes while he parted his lips and exhaled over the tip, tongue flicking out to taste. 

“So sexy, sweetheart,” Spain said, paying proper homage before Romano was on his tongue and down his throat. Romano groaned and dug his fingers in deeply enough to leave bruises he’d take blushing pleasure in kissing the next morning when they were lazy and tangled in bed, head knocking against the wall as Spain took him as deep as the bass humming under his feet.

Romano closed his eyes and rolled his hips in time with the song, wanting to dance with Spain always, drowning in the warmth and wetness around his cock and the fingers sliding so gently over the skin of his thighs, passion and sweetness mixing into  an irresistible cocktail. Spain’s mouth was so good, hands so greedy, and his gaze so fucking adoring, Romano had no choice but to be kind and give the bastard what he so clearly needed. Enjoying the slick slide of his cock between lips that sure as hell knew what they were doing, he took sinful pleasure in the thought of Spain so far gone for him that he’d take him like this, rushed and wickedunadorned wrongl. 

Too undone with lust and love to wait, Romano spilled curses into the air and his pleasure into Spain’s mouth, still shaking as he pulled Spain up from his prostrate position on the ground to kiss the salt and sex from his lips. Spain held him close murmuring his approval as Romano bit at the mouth he made so wanton and beautiful. He felt Spain hard and ready against his thigh, rocking into him lazily, as though he had all the time in the world for the song to end and Romano to come back to him.

Romano smirked, opened his eyes as Spain dragged him near and hid him from prying eyes, his voice a low, threat as he promised, “Don’t get any ideas, bastard. You might get on your goddamned knees on some dirty floor, but I only get fucked in a bed.” 

Spain smiled, kissed him and laced their hands together, murmuring, “Nothing but the best for the one I love.”

~~

By the time he’d endured the short cab ride from the club to Spain’s front door, Romano was ready to go again. Spain’s little act of debauched desperation had only taken the edge off, making the lust mellow into something sweeter and deeper. And because the bastard was incapable of keeping his fucking hands to himself—touching and stroking and teasing up and down his arms and drifting along the inside of his thigh when he thought the driver wasn’t looking—he no other choice but to press his frowning, disapproving mouth to the salt of Spain’s throat as soon as they stumbled through the door and mutter that they both needed a shower.

“I thought you wanted to go to bed,” Spain murmured playfully, lacing their hands together and dragging him towards the chaos of his too small for two bathroom. 

“And I thought you understood that tonight we’re going to do whatever the fuck I want, asshole,” Romano shot back lazily, pushing Spain towards the tub and flicking off the lights, thinking they had carried on enough under neon for one day. 

Into the echo of the rushing water, he spilled his appreciative moan when Spain returned to him with knowing hands and a hot mouth, fingers reaching for the pants that had been around his knees not too long ago and lips tracing a line of fire up the curve of his neck. 

“I want to do whatever Romano wants every night and every day,” Spain whispered lowly, hand cupping a cock that never failed to be interested in Spain’s goddamned ridiculous sentimentality, thumb brushing over the tip just the way he liked it when he wanted it slow and soft. Romano flushed and wondered how it was the sweet tongued bastard always knew what he wanted before he’d even said a word. Instead of asking such a fucking sappy question, he rolled his hips against Spain’s crotch in an imitation of the dirty dancing that had gotten them into this situation in the first place. 

“I want you to stop fucking around so we can get in the shower,” Romano insisted weakly, all too aware that the rocking of his body and the quiver in his thighs wasn’t exactly proving his point, but the thought of hot water and Spain’s wet skin sounded so goddamned good that he was willing to make an exception and let Spain get away with not having to work for it. 

Spain laughed, breath tickling the slick skin of his throat, words low and rough with affection as he stepped away to strip off his clothes. “I’m glad we always want the same thing.” 

Romano rolled his eyes and struggled to get out his clothes as fast as he could, already reaching for Spain as he kicked his too tight pants off, wanting to stem the tide of idiocy with his mouth, to kiss the lips that had fit so fucking tight and hot around his cock and touch the body that for some reason wanted him so jealously. 

The water felt as good as he’d imagined, stinging warmth on his sweaty skin earning a moan almost as passionate as the one Spain received as a reward for way he sucked on Romano’s bottom lip and pushed a thigh between Romano’s legs. Goddamn, Romano thought breathlessly, struggling to keep his eyes open under the streams of water long enough to take in the way Spain’s hair went slick and dark against his forehead and the sound his wet, red mouth  made when he begged Romano to touch him. 

“So fucking greedy,” Romano muttered smugly, happy enough to oblige such a prettily worded request, dragging his nails down the slickness of Spain’s chest to trail one finger from tip of Spain’s cock to the base while he pressed his lips to Spain’s throat to feel the rumble of his satisfied moan. 

“Always, for you,” Spain answered, hands threading in Romano’s hair and kneading gently at his scalp, fingers tightening when Romano hummed and decided to hide his smile by sinking to his knees in the narrowness of the tub and licking the water from Spain’s thighs. “Oh, sweetheart,” Spain murmured, affection and lust echoing off the tile, “Tell me what you want.” 

“I would have thought that was fucking obvious,” Romano teased, opening his mouth to bite at the hot, slick skin where leg met body, pressing his fingers into the swell of Spain’s thighs just to feel them shake from his touch, “But I suppose someone as dense as you requires a hands-on demonstration.” 

He stole the answer from Spain’s lungs with the flick of his tongue against the tip of Spain’s cock, salt and shower mixing together between his lips as permitted Spain’s cock to slide into his mouth, as hot and heavy and familiar as the feeling of Spain’s love. Over the rushing of the water and his own insistent desire, Romano could hear Spain’s pleasure, low and rough and so goddamned good that he couldn’t help but moan around Spain’s cock, spilling whispers and sighs over skin. He opened his eyes just enough to peer up the tanned and taut length of Spain’s chest to find too good green eyes looking at him with enough lust and sweetness to choke a lesser man. What the fuck could he do but part his lips just a little further and take Spain just a little deeper, enjoying the burn in his throat and the ache between his legs.  

Abruptly, he pulled away, letting Spain’s cock fall from his mouth, wanting just a little bit more before the night was done. He let Spain drag him from his feet and into a desperate, needy kiss that stung against his sore and smiling lips, sighing and cursing when Spain’s fingers wrapped around his cock. Romano arched into the touch and into the embrace, burying his face in the wet curve of Spain’s neck when he tore away from the kiss, breathless and demanding.

“Let me fuck you,” Spain murmured, hands splayed around his waist already turning him towards the shower wall, “I’ll make it so good, sweetheart. I promise.”

“Its always goddamned good,” Romano confessed without thought, so far gone that he was already leaning his head against his arms and spreading his legs to get what he been wanting since he put on that ridiculous red shirt and walked through the doors of the club, knowing that he was the one Spain was going to take home. 

“I love you,” Spain sighed, kissing the back of his neck and sliding two slick fingers between his legs and into his body, somehow ready to catch his head as it tilted back in pleasure, holding him steady with the arm wrapped around his chest, fingers splayed over his heart.

Romano closed his eyes and pushed against the fingers, impatient and insistent, moaning and making his feelings perfectly clear, “I love you too, bastard. But I’ll love you more if you fucking do it already.” 

“I live to serve, sweetheart,” Spain groaned, proving that he was capable of doing something in a timely manner when he quickly pulled his fingers free to wrap around Romano’s cock, stroking as he gently pushed inside, taking him by inches.  Romano sighed and shivered , focusing only on the feeling of Spain’s lips on his shoulder and the too goddamned good stretch and burn.

When Spain was pressed against him, in him, around him…as slick and hot and undeniable as the spray of water, Romano rolled his hips and craned his neck, seeking Spain’s kiss as he murmured, “So now you should call me Boss, bastard.” 

Spain smirked and kissed him deeply before pushing into him hard and fast, picking up the pace of his strokes and his thrusts, robbing Romano of his smugness and replacing it with breathless, desperate satisfaction. He opened his eyes to the feeling of Spain’s hand leaving his cock to deliver a stinging, sweet slap against the wetness of his ass, unashamed of the way his moan echoed off the tiled walls loud enough to overcome the rush of water and Spain’s answering groan of approval. 

He sought revenge by tightening around Spain and pushing back, pulling his cock in so  deep he’d feel it the next morning when he demanded that the bastard feed him breakfast in bed and rub the soreness of his back until wandering hands coaxed him to roll over and let Spain ease his pain with the sweetness of his mouth. He dropped a hand from its slipping splay over the shower wall to fist around his cock, stroking himself in time with the dip and roll of Spain’s hips, arching into the driving thrusts. 

Spain was sighing and moaning into his ear, cradling him close, the touch of his hand gentle compared to the force of their fuck, the sound of Spain’s passion for him pushing Romano to the point that he didn’t want to hold back any longer. 

“Kiss me,” Romano groaned, making one last command for the night as he prayed that Spain would be strong enough to keep them standing and came over his fingers, thinking of nothing more than the feeling of Spain’s lips pressed messy and fucking perfect against his own. In the haze of his lust, in the depths of their kiss, Romano could taste Spain following him, the hand over his heart holding true and fast as Spain’s body draped heavy and satiated against him. 

“Mmm,” Spain murmured thickly as Romano dropped his head to rest once more against his arms and tried to remember how to breathe, “That was really good.” 

Romano scoffed, smiling into his damp skin to hide his pleasure. “Bastard, that was so good the Pope’s gonna weep for days.”

 


End file.
